


oh we were sea-bound and aimless at best

by friendly_ficus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Outsider, can't believe i care about marius now, the resurrections didn't work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus
Summary: Beauregard becomes ship’s captain under less than ideal circumstances. The crew adjusts as best as they can.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	oh we were sea-bound and aimless at best

**Author's Note:**

> sad au i wrote a couple months ago in the week fjord and orly were dead, more a what-if than a really involved fic

The door to the captain's cabin is open when Marius makes it to the upper deck. It's hanging off the hinges, in fact.

Inside, he hears Caduceus murmuring something in a low voice and the sound of it is comforting. When Caduceus talks it seems like the world is going to be alright, even if everything is wrong. And everything  _ is. _

Beau interrupts whatever the cleric is saying with a voice like broken glass. "Caduceus. I can't do this right now, and if you say one more thing about destiny I swear I'm going to snap."

There's a terrible silence for a moment and Marius takes a loud step forward, thunks his boot against the deck.

"I'm going to make some tea," Caduceus says faintly, turning and walking right past him without so much as a nod. Unusual for the man—these are unusual circumstances, after all.

Marius dithers a moment more in the doorway before a residual ache from the fight acts up, makes him wince. At his movement Beau's gaze snaps up to his face, focused as a hunting bird.

"Come in and sit down," she orders, so he does.

There are traces of the captain around the room, if you know where to look. There's his sword, leaning up against the table and there's his belongings spread out on the bloodstained sheet where the bastards first found him. There's Beauregard, sitting on the other side of the desk.

"You need a drink, LePual?" she asks, and at his nod she passes him a flask.

She waits while he motions a vague toast, takes a mouthful of liquor.  _ To the captain,  _ he doesn’t say, but he thinks it.

"You're my first mate," Beau says abruptly.

He chokes.

While he’s coughing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, she just keeps watching him. There’s something harsh around her eyes, not cruel but  _ pained.  _ It’s been there since Caduceus’ diamond crumbled to nothing against the captain’s chest. Marius is no religious man but the results are clear—whatever miracle they’d tried, it hadn’t worked. 

“I’m not quali—excuse me,” he coughs again, trying to clear his throat. “I’m not qualified for the position.”

“Nobody fucking is, LePual. Nobody fucking is.” Beau sighs, brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “We still have to step up.”

“It should be one of the others. Orly always said—” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Orly said you needed three more years of seasoning. The implication was  _ at least  _ three more years, in case you were wondering. I don’t have three years right now, LePual. I don’t have three  _ weeks.  _ We’re heading into dangerous waters and I need you to step up  _ now.” _

Marius takes a deep breath. No small part of him wants to refuse; he only became a sailor a few months back, he only stuck around out of a sense of adventure, he was  _ Orly’s  _ boatswain, and it was easier being part of the captain’s crew when the captain wasn’t here.

Now Beauregard—now the captain—is sitting across the desk from him and asking him to commit a lot more than he ever meant to. Well, in for a copper piece.

He rises from the chair, looks her dead in the eye. 

“At your order, captain,” he says with a nod.

The captain makes a noise like she’s been punched. She recovers quickly, also standing. 

“I’ll handle the Nein, you check in on Gallan and Shelda. Gallan’s been at sea longer than either of us, he’ll know if, if we need anything. Go see what we need,” she instructs, and he turns to do just that.

“I’ll want my flask back, LePual,” she shouts after him when he’s halfway across the ship.

“Just as you like, captain,” he calls in return, and takes a swig without looking back.

She makes another sound, rough and caught in her throat, but he thinks it’s a laugh. His own smile almost tugs at his mouth before he catches a glimpse of the shrouded tortle on the deck. Whatever mirth he feels dies in his chest again.

\---

Gallan and Shelda are belowdecks, away from the rest of the adventurers. Marius has a vague idea as to where the Mighty Nein are—Jester’s been in the crow’s nest since the end of the battle and Widogast’s in a room with Veth and Dezran Thain, who came over from another ship, things like that—but it’s not his job to look after them. He has to trust that the captain’s taking care of it.

The two of them are on the lowest level of the ship, under the stern. Gallan’s walking slowly and tapping his hammer gently on various spots of the wood, listening for changes to the hull. They don’t know if last night’s visitors did any damage to the ship and much as he’d like to go into port and assess, Marius has a feeling they won’t be doing that for a while.

Shelda’s ostensibly watching him, picking up carpentry skills. In actuality, she’s found a dagger somewhere and is throwing it at a mocked-up training dummy Gallan made for her and Marius to practice fighting. Orly’d laughed the night Gallan debuted it, smiled his wily smile and told a story about a knight who’d worn a bucket for a helmet.

_ Thunk.  _ The dagger strikes the wooden torso, constructed out of barrel scraps. Shelda frowns, marches over and tugs it free before going back to stand at a mark on the floor.

“I thought that last one was alright,” Gallan tells her.

“You weren’t looking,” she scoffs, before turning at Marius’ footfall.

“Come to practice, then?” Gallan asks, setting his hammer aside.

“I’m first mate,” Marius blurts, bringing a hand to cover his face.

“Okay...” Shelda turns back to the dummy, lining up her throw.

“Well then,” Gallan says, “I’ve got a list of supplies we’ll need. Don’t suppose you know what the captain wants our next move to be?”

Marius makes a strangled noise. “That’s it? We’re just going with this?”

_ Thunk.  _ Shelda swears.

“Good one,” Gallan offers. “Now Marius, you’re a little new to the sailor’s life. You’ve got to go with things as they come. If I can make it through an axe to the head—”

“Here he goes about the axe thing,” Shelda mutters.

“—then you can be first mate, at least until we pick up some more sailors.”

“More sailors?” Marius seizes the line like a drowning man.

“Course we’ll need more sailors. I’m a fine carpenter and a fair cook, you’re almost a bosun, Shelda here’s a bit of a jack of all trades. We’ll hardly make a full crew when the rest leave on their adventures.”

“And one of the new sailors can be the first mate,” Marius nods. “Someone with more experience.”

“Well, sure. I s’pose you’ll be acting captain then. Don’t worry, lad,” Gallan says, patting him on the back as he feels himself paling. “I was captain of  _ The Mistake  _ for a good few minutes there. Nothing to it.”

_ Thunk.  _ Shelda leaves the dagger and comes to stand beside the two of them, crossing her arms. 

“When Orly brought me on, he made me two promises. One, that there’d be adventure. Two, that I wouldn’t have to waste my life in Nicodranas. There’s been adventure. You better deliver on the second promise, Marius,  _ somebody  _ has to.” She looks away, blinking rapidly.

Taking the better part of valor, Marius doesn’t draw attention to the tears in her eyes. A sailor’s entitled to a bit of grief, he figures. And she’ll probably try to punch him if he brings it up, Shelda’s prickly like that. (He’d had his own little vigil, sitting next to Orly’s shroud and watching the sunrise.)

“You’re both still with me, then,” he clarifies.

“Sure, sure. Now about my list...” Gallan starts walking him through the quality of the nails they picked up at the last port and Shelda resumes dagger practice. 

Marius wonders if this is the rest of his life, right here. It might not be so terrible, even if it’s somehow too quiet. Maybe he should take up bagpipes.

**Author's Note:**

> title of this fic comes from the song ‘That Sea, The Gambler’ by Gregory Alan Isakov. i know this is really short but it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while and i figured why not clean it up and post it, you know? anyway i love the balleater crew they’re my new favorite npcs. we can all enjoy living in the reality where fjord and orly survived, but i was interested in the story potential of them not making it. i think things on the ship would really have lost their footing without those two.  
> hope you enjoyed this short fic, leave a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
